Not Children Anymore
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: They were spooning. This was less innocent than the times Alfred would climb into his bed, claiming that he needed to protect Matthew. This didn't feel right. But this was still Alfred.
1. Chapter 1

Yeah, I'm totally on a Hetalia kick right now. Anyways, this little fic/idea/thingy has been bugging me so I wrote it out. I don't quite know how to feel about it. I may or may not choose to continue it, but let's see how this is received.

Warnings: possible OOCness, slashy undertones, undertones of incest

Pairing: Kinda Alfred/Matthew (America/Canada)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

"Really, Al? Don't you think we're getting too old for this?" Matthew sighed, tone laced with annoyance. "And do you have to be so close?"

"Stop complaining, Matt." Alfred pouted. "I'm just trying to protect you from the zombies."

"For the love of maple… It was just a movie." Matthew snapped. Alfred didn't respond but Matthew could see the other nation's stubborn expression and hard blue eyes. His brother was not going to budge Matt realized, and he felt the last of his dissent crumble away.

Looks like he and Alfred would be sleeping together tonight.

But that still didn't explain why Alfred felt the need to press himself against the younger blond's back while eliminating any semblance of distance by looping his arms around Matthew's waist and pulling his brother flush against his broad chest.

When the two nations shared a bed in the past (back when Alfred and he were still living under Arthur's strict gaze), the two would sleep facing each other, fingers intertwined but bodies apart. In the morning, the pale sunlight would stretch across the boys' shared bedroom, spilling across the near identical nations who had somehow, over night, managed to gravitate towards each other. Alfred would be splayed out on the mattress, arms raised above his head and one tiny foot sticking out from under the heavy quilt. Matthew would be curled on top of Alfred, his head tucked under the other's chin, and legs looped around one of Alfred's.

But that was when they were children and their closeness was unintentional.

But now…they were _spooning_. And the intimacy and tenderness of the act didn't sit well with Matthew. This was unlike their infantile cuddling. This was less innocent than the times Alfred would climb into his bed, claiming that he needed to protect Matthew (even when Matthew could see the poorly hidden terror in his brother's wide eyes). This didn't feel right.

And Alfred seemed to be absolutely oblivious to his brother's discomfort.

Not that Matthew was surprised by his brother's lack of consideration.

He expected it. But that didn't mean he was happy about it.

But, the Northern nation reasoned, he'd only have to put up with it for that night. It's not as though Alfred slept over often. In fact, it had been a long time since they could just relax and watch movies. Both nations had been swamped at work, especially Alfred. Matthew could see the toll that the slew of problems was having on his brother. Though the other blonde was as exuberant and obnoxious as ever, Matthew _knew_ his brother.

He caught the brief flashes of exhaustion in his brother's sky blue eyes. He noticed the lines of tension in the other's shoulders. He could see the way Alfred's hands would shake minutely whenever he shuffled his papers at the World Conference.

His brother was strong, but he wasn't infallible.

And that was why, when Alfred showed up with an armful of horror movies and a cheerful grin, he smiled and sat through the cheesy storylines and cheap special effects. That was why he allowed his brother to cling to him, nails digging deep into his arm and leaving angry red crescents. That was why he allowed Alfred to sleep with him and use him as a human stuffed toy (even though Alfred swore it was because he didn't to be with Matt in order to protect him when the zombies burst through the windows and doors). This was why he pushed all thoughts on how this was strange and felt wrong and how uncomfortable he was.

Alfred never gave him reason to worry in the past. Even back in 1812, Alfred never did any of the... things Arthur had warned him about (because nations aren't so different from people in that they are capable of the most altruistic and pure actions as well as the most inhumane and grotesque).

Alfred never treated him like _that_, never hurt him like _that._ Not even when he ravaged York and burned his Parliament and left Canada writhing, in one of his weakest moments, did he do _anything_.

Strangely enough, even though Matthew knew Alfred would never let anything happen to him, would protect him (as a hero, as a brother), the comfort of his position wasn't always comforting.

"Hey Mattie?" Alfred whispered, breath hot against the younger nation's neck. "You still awake?"

"Yeah. What's the matter?"

Alfred's arms tightened their grip on Matthew's narrow waist and he could feel the solid, warm expanse of his brother's bare chest against his clothed back and Matthew was reminded, once again, just how _off_ this entire situation was.

"You know I love you right?"

"…Al—"

"I mean," Alfred said hurriedly, bull-dozing over Matthew's words," even though I sometimes don't see you—and really you should stop doing that disappearing thing you do, its been decades, you're just showing off now—and I forget your birthday and sometimes I even forget about you and bully you about talking to those Commies—which I still don't see why you bother with them—and I'm not always nice to you, that doesn't mean I don't love you!"

At some point during Alfred's rambling, he had pulled himself over Matthew so that the other nation was pinned under him, staring up with wide violet eyes, with both of Alfred's forearms planted firmly on either side of Matthew's head.

The room was dark, not even moonlight shone through the windows. But Alfred could see Matthew's blond tresses fanned out against the pillows. His eyes flashed slightly with fear caused by the urgency and uncharacteristic roughness that Alfred had employed unknowingly during his speech. And he was biting his lower lip, quietly processing the older man's words.

And Alfred always hated to see Matthew do that. So he gently pressed his thumb against the abused lip and coaxed it away from Matthew's teeth.

But he didn't remove his thumb, and instead idly brushed it against the prone nation's lower lip.

And his eyes were on Matthew.

And Matthew wasn't sure if he should have been so permissive earlier this evening and that night. Because he wasn't quite sure at what Alfred was getting at and he had a suspicion that it was something more than he wanted it to be.

But this was still Alfred.

Matthew swallowed roughly and tried to ignore the way sharp blue eyes bore into him.

"Yeah." He whispered. "I know."

But he didn't feel so sure of it anymore.

* * *

Ahahaha--IDK -dies a little bit- Anyways, leave a review and let me know what you think. Please and thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

So I decided to continue this because the idea just won't leave me alone :D. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it and I'm glad that people seem to be interested in this story so far. However, I must warn you all, that this story may not always be light-hearted and sweet. This is a new topic I'm dealing with and results may vary ^^;. But, that doesn't mean it'll be depressing and weird forever! It'll get happy (and weird). Oh, and I do use both human and country names. Human names are used when countries are close and country names are used in professional relationships.

Summary: Matthew isn't quite sure how to handle this possible new development. The pastry, though delicious, does not help.

Pairings: Undertones of Alfred/Matthew

Warnings: Awkwardness, OOCness, some angst

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the series.

* * *

Almost a month had passed since that strange night and Matthew had mostly pushed the incident into the far recesses of his mind.

Key word being mostly.

He couldn't quite forget Alfred's apprehensive, insecure tone, so uncharacteristic of the superpower. He could still feel the way his arms tensed around him as Alfred babbled on, trying to say everything he needed to say, his words tripping and tumbling over each other and out of his mouth. He remembers Alfred's searching gaze and how, after Matthew's quiet response to his brother's confession, his reassurance, Alfred had curled back down next to Matthew before wrapping the other nation back into his protective grasp.

And Matthew, still slightly stunned by the turn of events and completely at a loss of how to handle the situation, had acquiesced to the gentle treatment.

And the two brothers fell asleep, just like that.

And Matthew could remember, in painful clarity, the next morning as well. Roused from sleep the moment the warm sunlight streamed through the window and brushed across his face, he came face to face with his brother's serene, sleeping face.

And Alfred's lips, slightly parted, were so close that if Matthew tilted his head _just a bit_…

But, instead, Matthew untangled himself from his brother's hold and rushed out of the room without looking back. Noting that it was barely past seven, he busied himself with cooking breakfast (knowing that his brother wouldn't be awake for another two hours exactly) and feeding Kumajirou.

Leaving a plate of eggs and sausage along with a stack of pancakes to stay warm in the oven, Matthew scratched the polar bear behind the ears and earned a "Who?" and nuzzle in thanks. And, in an act that still forced a shameful blush to rise across his cheeks, Matthew scribbled out a note to his elder brother before heading to the garage to start his car.

_Al,_

_Sorry I left without saying goodbye. I received an urgent call from Ontario this morning. Breakfast is in the oven._

_Matt_

By the time Alfred woke up, blond hair mussed and eyes sleep-swollen, the spot where Matthew had slept was cold.

By the time Alfred tumbled out of bed to search for the slightly younger nation, Matthew was unlocking the door to his Toronto apartment.

And by the time Alfred found the note, Matthew was kicking himself and wondering just what exactly was wrong with his self, that he had acted so callously towards his own brother who had done nothing wrong except restate his affection for Matthew.

Or was he saying something else all together? Or was Matthew simply paranoid and Alfred only ever saw him as family? Could he have imagined everything?

Or, was there something more than just fraternal love glowing in Alfred's bright gaze?

And, as Alfred was asking himself, "What did I do wrong?" Matthew was asking, "When did it become this way?"

That was a month ago. Since that day, Matthew had called his brother again to apologize for leaving him that morning. Alfred had laughed it off, saying that duty called and if it were any of his states, he would've done the same thing.

And Matthew felt awful because Ontario hadn't really called (and had actually blanched when Matthew did visit him later that day), so he apologized again and again until the laughter started to fade in Alfred's voice and something else began to creep in and Alfred told Matthew to stop apologizing.

And the two brothers hadn't talked since.

And since then, Matthew hadn't stopped wondering if there was something wrong with him. Why was he so worried around Alfred? Was he blowing this out of proportion?

He tried to convince himself that Alfred just needed a physical reassurance that he wasn't alone, that Alfred needed comfort that night, that Alfred needed _him_.

That thought didn't comfort Matthew.

And, if Alfred loved him _that way_, so what? Was it so repulsive? Was it wrong?

They were nations. They may have acted like humans, suffered and loved like humans, but they were not bound by earthly morality. Brothers and sisters, children and parents, all could love and lust after one another.

After all, if they could invade and subjugate and ravage and hold down family members on the battlefield, could they not do the same on a bed?

It may not have been common or said aloud, but it existed.

No, he wasn't repulsed by the thought of Alfred loving him as more than a brother.

He was confused by it. For years, Alfred had alternated between using, protecting, adoring, and outright forgetting the other's existence.

Alfred was a wonderful brother at best and an obnoxious neighbor at worst.

But never had he given any indication of wanting any other relationship with Matthew.

And, now, he had, in Matthew's mind, changed the rules of the relationship they had changed since the beginning.

And Matthew, who was still so very green, was confused and frightened. Did he want something like that with Alfred? With anyone?

Not to mention the possibility that Matthew was wrong about the entire thing.

So, Matthew decided to ignore the incident and write it off as a one-time thing.

Because doing so was so much easier than trying to wrap his mind around it.

And so he'd be able to face his brother at the conference in New York. Which was today. To which he was arriving late because his flight was delayed.

"Damn it. Damn it!" Matthew growled under his breath as he rushed out of the cab, tossing some cash at the cab driver. His stomach was grumbling painfully because the Northern nation had skipped breakfast that morning and his head was pounding because he had forgone his usual coffee that day as well.

However, fortunately for him, Matthew was not late and he managed to skid into the conference room a few minutes before it officially started. Some nations had taken their seats and were idly chatting to their neighbors while others were milling about in cliques. Scanning the room for an empty chair, Matthew finally spotted one next to Austria. Making his way to the European nation, Matthew was stopped by a confident voice yelling his name.

"I saved you a seat Matt! Sit next to me!" Alfred's voice rang out. Turning, Matthew resisted the urge to hold his head in his hands. His brother was standing on his chair (somehow managing to stay on despite it wobbling) and waving his arms wildly with a wide, cheerful grin on his face. "C'mon Mattie!"

Matthew sighed. He had hoped to avoid Alfred for a little longer, but it seemed it couldn't be helped. Taking a seat next to the blond, Matthew flashed the nation a shy grin.

But just as he was about to speak, his stomach growled. Loudly. And Alfred raised a slender eyebrow.

"Was that your stomach?"

Matthew flushed scarlet and stammered, "Y-yeah. I skipped breakfast this morning."

Alfred frowned faintly and was about to speak when Germany's stern voice cut through the din of the room and the remaining nations took their seats.

Blush still present on his face; Matthew turned his attention to the meeting, ignoring the way his stomach rumbled sullenly.

Two hours later, Germany finally called a break (due to North Italy's incessant complaining) and Alfred shot out of his seat without a word. Matthew watched his brother rush out of the room and was about to go over to the snack table and see if any donuts left, when he saw Russia standing, with a frighteningly happy grin on his face.

Matthew blanched. He didn't really want to face the other nation right now. Not so soon after he completely dominated the bigger man at hockey. So he stayed seated until Germany called the meeting back into order.

However, when Alfred didn't come back, he started to get worried. Maybe something had happened and Alfred had to go back to his capital. Maybe he got lost. Maybe he did something stupid and—

--Never mind. Alfred had slipped back into his seat during Matthew's train of thought, looking proud and holding a brown bag.

"Here." Alfred said, sounding a bit out of breath.

Matthew hesitantly took the bag and chanced a peak at its contents. Alfred laughed, azure eyes twinkling.

It was a pastry, sticky and topped with a mix of berries and coated with a sugar glaze.

Alfred had gone out to buy a pastry for him.

"We don't get a lunch break for another two hours. And there was a bakery across the street and I know you always like to have something sweet for breakfast and if you don't start the day with something sweet, then you won't eat a proper lunch. So…" Alfred trailed off with a helpless shrug, running a hand through his short, golden blond locks.

Matthew stared at Alfred with wide violet eyes. He knew he shouldn't be so surprised that Alfred had done something so thoughtful and actually paid attention to such slight details about him, but he was. Alfred liked to help people, liked to play the hero, but he rarely noticed such details and he did not always go out of his way when it didn't benefit his self. Normally, the growling of someone else's stomach would either remind him of his own hunger or prompt him to offer a burger to the hungry nation. But, this time Alfred actually considered what Matthew might enjoy eating. As slightly uncharacteristic as it was, Matthew was too touched to care. "T-thanks Al. I appreciate it."

"No problem, Mattie. Anything for you." Alfred said, seriously.

Matthew smiled, nervous and flattered, and took a bite out of the pastry.

It was delicious. And eating it almost distracted him from the way his heart was pounding, threatening to burst out of his chest.

* * *

I don't know who to hug first... my nation or my favorite nation... Anyways. How was it? Like it? Hate it? Leave a review and tell me what you think of he path I'm talking, please! Oh, and also if you think I ought to write the next chapter from Alfred's point of view.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and liked my story! I won't lie, I like to write for myself, but it makes me happy when other people enjoy it as well. :D

So, yeah, I don't quite know how I feel about this chapter. I rewrote it a few times and I kinda like it and kinda don't. But I don't know what else I could've done. But, I'll be honest. I wanted to work in Papa France. Because he is fantabulous. For legit. And as for a chapter with Al's point of view, that'll be later (sorry!). But I will work in his POV next chapter. I can't just forget about my nation after all.

And I'm glad people believe I'm keeping these countries in character. I hope I don't ruin it in this chapter *goes off to her corner*

*Edit*: Yeah, I went back and fixed some of the mistakes I found in this. I really need to proofread better...

Warnings: sprinklings of French endearments, some OOCness, incesty undertones, possessive Al (XD)

Pairing: onesided(?) Alfred/Matthew

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

* * *

"Keep frowning like that and you will get wrinkles." A slender finger gently poked at the space between Matthew's two pale blond eyebrows and smoothed away the troubled ridges. "What is troubling you, _mon chou_?" Francis's voice was low and comforting, lacking its usual jovial undertones but melodious nonetheless.

"Nothing." Matthew replied, looking up at the European nation that had found him at the outdoor café with an uneaten sandwich and glass of juice.

The café was actually the bakery Alfred had run to this morning to buy the pastry. It had a patio out front with tiny white tables where Matthew was now seated at, watching the traffic and passing people.

"Do not lie to me, _Mathieu_." Francis said sternly, gracefully slipping into the chair opposite Matthew. "Tell papa what is troubling you."

"It's really nothing." Matthew said hurriedly. "Please don't worry!"

"_Mon trésor, _you look close to tears." Francis tsked as Matthew averted his eyes and took a sip of his juice.

"I am not." He retorted, even as he could feel the burning in his eyes. He would not cry, not now in front of Francis, not ever.

"You don't have to act so tough in front of me. I am not like _Angleterre._ Bottling up your feelings isn't healthy."

"Don't lecture me." Matthew snapped, steadfastly not meeting the other's concerned gaze. He hoped Francis would just leave him alone, lest he admit why he was hiding out here during the lunch break rather than joining the other nations at the hotel restaurant. Joining Alfred (who had been dragged away by China before Matthew slipped out of the room) at the hotel restaurant. "I'm fine."

"_Désolé._ You just snuck away from the meeting room so quickly. I was worried."

"I just wanted to avoid the rush."

"_Amerique_ was looking for you." Francis said offhandedly. "He seemed quite determined to find you."

Matthew said nothing, unwillingly replaying the events of the morning in his head. After Matthew had finished the pastry, Alfred had wordlessly taken the empty bag and thrown it away, awarding Matthew with a warm smile when he sat down again. After that, Alfred had turned his attention to Germany, who was in the middle of talking, and had spoken up during the speech (read: interrupted the other nation) and thrown in his own ideas regarding cleaner energy options.

A few sounded slightly plausible. Some included robots. All earned a death glare from Germany that would have made a lesser nation (or a nation who wasn't oblivious to anger and hatred) tremble. Alfred had merely grinned proudly and sat back in his chair.

Matthew had sighed, a faint smile playing on his lips, and shut his eyes. Germany's speech was meticulous and informative (the nation had done his work well), but painfully dry and, as a result, Matthew started to drift off.

And, no one would notice if he dozed off, thanks to his strange ability to fade in and out from sight. Just as he was about to succumb to sleep's seductive embrace, he felt a warm fingers wrap around his bony wrist. His eyes snapped open and he glanced at the culprit.

Alfred was looking at him with unreadable eyes even as his thumb drew comforting circles on Matthew's pulse. And Matthew was wondering if Alfred could feel it race.

Suddenly a bright grin broke across Alfred's face and the light shining on Texas obscured his eyes from view. "Don't fall asleep, Mattie. You'll miss something important." Alfred teased and withdrew his hand. But Matthew could still feel the uncomfortable heat against his skin, its presence seared onto his pale skin.

He stayed awake after that.

"If you don't want to talk about it, I won't push you." Francis said, hand reaching out and cupping the curve of Matthew's cheek. "But at least eat, _chou. _Your skin does not have that glow to it."

"Yes, Francis." Matthew dutifully lifted one half of the sandwich and began to nibble at it while his former guardian watched with concern. However, each bite he took seemed heavy and, once the sandwich was finished, it seemed to just sit in his stomach.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Francis asked, a smile playing on his lips.

Matthew shook his head, eyes focused on the tabletop. He knew his former guardian was waiting for him to share what was on his mind. Francis knew him, after all.

Francis probably knew him the best.

Even when Arthur gained guardianship, Francis always seemed to know how he was feeling. On the days he felt the worst, depressed and lonely (the sort of loneliness that even his bear couldn't cure), one of the European nation's birds would appear, a scroll tied to its leg with a pretty, satin ribbon (red, Matthew's favorite color). As hard as Arthur would try to sever the bond between Matthew and Francis, he could not. And eventually, after seeing how it brightened his new charge's mood, he consented grudgingly.

That was why it hurt so much more, back during the incident with Quebec, when he saw Francis try to undermine the sense of unity he had worked so hard for. He still hadn't quite forgiven France. But, France, despite his various faults, loved Matthew.

And Matthew wondered if he allowed people to get away with so much simply because they loved him. But he quickly buried such thoughts.

Because he, like with Francis, loved them, faults and all.

But, moving back to the topic at hand. He knew Francis would probably be the best to turn to regarding this new …thing… with Alfred.

Arthur, who knew Alfred best, really wasn't that bright when it came to love. He still, after all these years, thought Francis was trying to one-up him.

"Is it so strange," Matthew began, unsure and barely audible, "that someone would love me?"

Dark blue eyes widened in surprise then narrowed in anger. "You gave you that idea?" He snapped. "And why would you believe them?"

Had the young blond glanced up, he would've seen a glimmer in the other's eyes that would've convinced anyone that the nation of France wasn't as laughable as assumed to be.

He was, after all, an empire once.

"No, no." the nation of Canada said hurriedly. "It's just that, it's possible right?"

"Of course, you silly boy. Why would it not be?" Francis snapped. Matthew, apparently, took more after Arthur than he thought. "You inherited my looks after all. Silky hair. Pretty eyes. Clear complexion. Perfect lips. Slim figure."

Matthew felt his eye twitch. He could feel bits and pieces of his manhood die.

"You're kind, brave, loving, intelligent. Have faith in yourself. There is a reason I call you _un trésor._"

Matthew felt a blush rise against his cheeks. Okay, so maybe not the best way to start this conversation…

"I think I should start over." Matthew muttered. "Alfred—"

"Did he say you were unlovable? Don't listen to him. He's an idiot."

"No! I mean, I think Al—"

"Matthew!"

Both nations turned to see America jogging up to the café. Though he was smiling, the cheer didn't reach his eyes. Matthew couldn't quell the feeling of unease that was bubbling in his stomach, overcoming the annoyance that rose when he was first interrupted.

"Al…" Matthew started but felt his voice fade when Alfred turned his gaze towards his younger brother.

"Looks like you found the bakery! If you wanted to come here for lunch, why didn't you just say so?" Alfred grinned.

"I thought you were busy talking to China."

Alfred shrugged. "It was the same old thing. 'Debts, blah blah aru, money, blah blah, pay me back, aru'." He laughed loudly and Matthew frowned, a bit annoyed with his brother's cavalier attitude.

"Anyways, I was looking everywhere for you Matt." Alfred smiled, ruffling his brother's blond, curling hair. "You just disappeared. I thought I told you to stop doing that." He pouted childishly and it would've been comical if Matthew was not acutely aware of and distracted by the rough fingers, thin and calloused, carding through his hair. Locks tangled with the invasive fingers as they worked their way down until they escaped the wavy tresses. He felt warm fingertips glide across his neck as Alfred's large hand glided to Matthew's shoulder and settled there, radiating warmth.

Matthew wondered if it looked as possessive as it seemed to feel.

Judging by the way Francis's eyebrows were frozen near his hairline, it just might've been.

And Matthew, when Alfred leaned down and pressed his slightly chapped lips against his temple, knew that his question had been answered.

Well, at least he wouldn't have to explain his problem to Francis now.

* * *

Well, I hope that wasn't too bad. I suppose if its too awful/out-of-place, I can go back and edit it. Yeah...but let me know how you guys feel! Oh and cookies for whoever caught the hint for another favorite pairing of mine XD


	4. Chapter 4

Warnings: Language, mentions of rape and violence, OOCness

Pairing: eventual Alfred/Matthew

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership

* * *

"So that's why you weren't at the restaurant with everyone else. You were having lunch with Francis." Alfred laughed, eyes sharp behind his glasses. "You still should've come to the restaurant. You need to be more social, Matt."

"It's not as though anyone would have noticed me." Matthew mumbled, eyes slightly downcast.

"That's not true!" Alfred retorted, reaching out and grabbing Matthew's elbow. "That's not true. I," He paused, voice softening, "I would've noticed."

Matthew bit back a retort on how Alfred was one of the nations always forgetting him. And if his next-door neighbor couldn't remember him, then what hope did Matthew have?

But Alfred's eyes were wide and worried. He seemed desperate and his fingers were digging into his crisp suit and Matthew could imagine the wrinkles bleeding out from under that grip.

"I mean what I say." Alfred's grip didn't relax. "I meant what I said. I know that I haven't always treated you well and if you hate me, well, I don't blame you. But," He wetted his lips, "I don't want you to hate me."

The air was heavy and Matthew felt as though the pressure was steadily crushing him.

He could feel panic clawing in his throat and he couldn't breathe and he couldn't understand why.

Why was he afraid? And what of?

Alfred's eyes were so earnest. His hands were steady as they cupped Matthew's face, thumbs sweeping over the curve of his cheeks. His smile was faint.

There was a fragility in his brother's normally confident face that Matthew wondered if he was imagining.

"Matthew, I—"

"Don't touch me!" Matthew gasped, pushing a stunned Alfred away from him. The younger nation could feel his shoulders shaking. "I can't stand it when you touch me."

And, again, Matthew turned and fled.

And Alfred was left, standing with his arms still held out, hands still tingling from the warmth of his brother's face.

"What am I doing wrong, Mattie?" Alfred asked, frustration seeping into his tone.

Silence greeted him.

And it had no answers.

* * *

All the shock Alfred felt after Matthew stumbled away from him had disappeared.

In its place was anger and hurt and blossoming determination.

He was trying so hard, restraining himself and pushing himself, all to show Matthew that Alfred wasn't just America, wasn't just the negligent older brother, wasn't just the one who would use and dispose of Matthew. He wasn't always a bully, but that he could do nice things, thoughtful things for those he loved.

And he loved Matthew.

And he wanted Matthew to know. He wanted to show Matthew that the younger nation, if so he chose, he could have Alfred's heart.

Because Alfred was holding it out to him.

And he couldn't explain it because it was just something that he _knew_.

It was strange, he'd concede, that after centuries of being so close and interacting he was only know realizing it. That he could turn around and proclaim his love for Matthew after ignoring and forgetting and trying to trample the other nation.

But its not like Matthew let him. The other blond, though unforgettable and rather unremarkable, had his own accomplishments and cheerfully kicked America in the crotch whenever the other tried to strong-arm him.

Not to mention the numerous years of frustration he concentrated on the other whenever America faced off against him on the ice.

Or the hours of verbal abuse that Canada gleefully unleashed whenever Alfred pushed his luck just a bit…

Alfred didn't know when he realized it. It might have been during that special about America and Canada's relationship during the Olympic hockey matches. It might've been when he noticed all the attention focused on Canada during the Olympics. Nations had greeted Matthew warmly and thanked him for his hospitality. It might have been the way Matthew had opened the door that night and smiled (and just remembering that smile made Alfred weak-kneed) and let his brother in without a single word of complaint.

And when Alfred realized that he loved Matthew, it didn't hit him like a bag of bricks nor did he feel sick.

He felt entirely at ease.

And it had been a while since he had felt such tranquility.

So when he first tried to confess to the slimmer nation that night, he felt excited. Surely Matthew felt the same? How could he not?

Alfred knew that he was cool and strong and brave. Who wouldn't love a hero?

But, he realized later when he woke up and Matthew was not there, that maybe he had scared the other nation. Maybe he had come on too strong and Matthew, who was easily caught off guard nowadays, wasn't okay with it.

Maybe he scared Matthew…

But that, he decided, could not be right! He had never, ever done anything to frighten the other before.

Even during war, he may have hurt his brother, but he never _hurt_ Matthew.

He didn't shove Matthew onto the hard dirt, didn't tangle his fingers in that hair and pull his head up and force him to watch his Parliament burn while driving into that nubile body, other hand leaving cruel bruises against a tender hip, smirking maliciously as the other, hearing the shrieks of his people resonate in his head and inhaling the oppressive smoke and feeling his skin sizzle, sobbed, strands of hair sticking to his damp cheeks.

He won't lie and say that the thought didn't cross his mind. He was still upset that Matthew chose to stay with Arthur…

But the point was that Alfred had opportunities where he could've taken advantage of Matthew and he didn't!

How many other nations could leave such large borders undefended, trusting that the other nation would not take advantage of it.

No, Alfred had never done anything to make Matthew fear him.

But, so far, Matthew had rebuffed his attempts.

And Alfred was not pleased.

* * *

Matthew refused to look at him.

Alfred's scowl deepened and he continued to stare at the other nation with hard eyes but his near twin's gaze stayed, unwaveringly, at the podium where Germany was opening up the floor for questions.

Spain casually raised his hand and motioned to pose a question to the delegates.

Alfred's hands curled into fists.

Matthew still didn't look at the nation next to him.

Alfred was tempted to reach over and force the northern nation to look at him. He wanted to grip Matthew by the chin, dig his fingers into that unblemished skin, and tug so that those shimmering eyes would be looking at him and _only _him.

He clenched his fists tighter.

Matthew had made it clear he didn't want Alfred to touch him.

To Alfred, it also seemed that he was making it clear that he didn't want anything other than whatever relationship they had before.

Alfred refused to give up.

* * *

_Pathetic. Coward. Weakling._

The self-loathing thoughts had started around the time he pulled away from Alfred and the traitorous, vicious voice in his head would not stop hissing them.

_You overreacted. He probably hates you now. You're so pitiful._

Francis's earlier words, which had warmed him earlier, were now pushed aside by the others and Matthew wished he could stop the harsh words.

But he felt guilty and, in his guilt, knew there was truth in them.

Alfred's feelings were alarmingly clear and, though he couldn't say it exactly, Matthew understood.

He may not have been sure about his self, but he now recognized that fragility.

It was the fragility that love brings.

He had seen it on Arthur's face when he fell to his knees in front of Alfred, unable to shoot him. He had seen glimpses of it when Francis offered Arthur a rose and the sandy-haired man had scoffed and returned the display of affection with a biting remark.

Alfred loved him.

And Matthew couldn't understand. But, he realized with a sort of bitter finality, it doesn't matter now.

_You've ruined everything._ _It's over._

"It's not the end yet, Matt."

Matthew was dragged away from his reveries by Alfred's voice. The other nation didn't look at him but he was smirking.

"Heroes don't just give up. And they always get the girl." Alfred turned and winked at Matthew.

The cruel voice in his head was silenced and Matthew felt lighter than he had in a while.

He didn't even slug Alfred for referring to him as the girl.

* * *

Alright then...so...yeah. So, its all out now. Just some points of clarification. I think that when one falls in love, its more of a quiet realization. I also think that Matthew, with the way he's portrayed, is not a weak character (because Canada rocks) but has some self-esteem issues because it just seems strange that he wouldn't because he seems to be ignored by most characters (even his 'family'). Also, I don't think Alfred's had completely innocent thoughts regarding Matthew. I don't see my nation like that. I think he does have darker thoughts and consoles himself because he doesn't act on them. Because heroes can't do that. But I also think he is used to getting what he wants and Matthew isn't so used to being wanted (at least it seems that way from the comic...). So, I tried. I can only cross my fingers and hope that this chapter went over well.

If it needs a rewrite, I wouldn't mind because I actually like rewriting things. But, I'm not entirely displeased with it either. Heh. So, what did everyone else think? Like it? Hate it? If you wouldn't mind, leave a review and share your feelings! And thank you to everyone who's fav'd or reviewed or put this on their alerts list! I take it as a sign that there are those who like my humble attempts at writing fanfiction!

(And yes, I am leaving FrUk hints. XD)


	5. Chapter 5

...And, after some writer's block, I'm back with the fifth installment! Whoo! To be honest, it did cross my mind to end the story after the last chapter. But I think a happy(er) ending is necessary. This chapter could be considered a filler. It seems more crackish to me. I'm sorry for that. But I kinda wanted to lighten the mood a bit..-scuffs shoe against the ground-...so yeah... But England and France show up! Yay? And I'd also like to thank everyone who has fav'd, put this story on their alerts, or reviewed. I really appreciate it and it makes me feel warm and happy. ^^ I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as well!

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, OOCness, slash, fail

Pairing: hinted Arthur/Francis, eventual Alfred/Matthew

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

"Did you know?"

The sandy-haired man turned at the vaguely sensual voice, a familiar feeling of annoyance with a flutter of exhilaration blossoming in his stomach that always rose whenever the other approached him. Annoyance was a fine and absolutely natural response to the other's presence. But he hated the exhilaration. It taunted him. It made him think of things he'd rather not face.

And he hated it because he didn't hate it.

'Keep a stiff upper lip, old chap.' Arthur encouraged himself as he turned bright green eyes towards his best enemy.

Francis was standing behind him, fingers curled into loose fists. The man, who usually glowed and whose lips were normally curled into a smug grin, looked painfully subdued, wilted. And, perhaps because Arthur so rarely saw his best enemy like this, whatever biting words he had waiting to strike froze in his throat and he spoke briskly. "What are you talking about?"

"Your son is courting mine." Alfred had always been Arthur's and Francis always liked to think of Matthew as his own still.

Arthur stared at the taller nation blankly. "Which son of mine exactly?"

Francis looked vaguely annoyed now. "_Amerique. _He is courting _Matheiu._"

"…Alfred is dating who?"

Now the other European nation looked murderous. "_Mathieu_! The son you took from me. _Mon Dieu_, how do you forget the child you raised? He still has your queen on his money." The blond trailed off, muttering angrily in French.

Arthur's cheeks flushed darkly. How could he be expected to keep track of all his colonies? And its not as though he forgot Matthew on purpose; the boy just had the unfortunate habit of being easily distracted and quietly slipping into the background. Not to mention he never really had to scold or worry about the lad because, unlike his siblings, Matthew was responsible and respectful and never shot himself in the foot because he was overzealous and couldn't wait for Arthur to return home and teach him how to shoot nor did he ever try to wrestle every wild beast that he encountered nor did he randomly set off firecrackers at ungodly hours during the morning.

(Alfred and Stephen used to argue with him for hours after conferences, trying to convince him that Matthew was a devious troublemaker and that he always blamed them for the northern country's misdeeds. Arthur told them act like the grown nations they were and not like toddling colonies.)

(The trio never noticed Matthew pass by them, lips curved into a satisfied smirk.)

But then the full impact of Francis's words hit him. "What?!" Arthur's prominent eyebrows shot upwards.

"It is true." Francis shrugged elegantly. "Though I am not surprised. They are quite close and always have been. Frankly I'm surprised it didn't happen earlier. But then again both of them, unfortunately, inherited your obliviousness. At least they were spared those monstrous beasts—"

"Shut up." Arthur snapped. Really, why wouldn't people leave his eyebrows alone? He liked then well enough. And then, for good measure, he added, "Prat."

Unfortunately, 'prat' opened the gates for another verbal battle between the two nations.

The issue of Alfred and Matthew was pushed aside in favor of colorful British insults and French tirades too vulgar to be translated.

In the end, Francis had to ice his …'vital regions'… and Arthur was missing a portion of his left eyebrow.

* * *

"Matthew."

The North American nation turned at the call of his name to see his former guardians standing behind him, looking rather worse for wear.

"Arthur. Francis." Matthew smiled faintly. "Arthur, you seem to be missing—"

"Yes, yes I know." Arthur interrupted gruffly and immediately felt guilty when Matthew looked hurt at being cut off. "Sorry, my boy. The spell has yet to kick in."

"It's alright."

"Where is your brother?" Francis asked, carefully, and tried not to coo when Matthew's cheeks darkened at the mention of Alfred. Clearly the poor boy was embarrassed about what happened earlier.

"Well…he…I mean…" Matthew floundered a bit. "I don't know…?"

Arthur and Francis fixed him with skeptical looks.

"I mean, he kind of ran out of the meeting quickly and I haven't seen him since…" Matthew added softly. He wouldn't admit that he had been wandering around in an attempt to avoid the other nation. He could stay in his room, but he was fairly certain Alfred had stolen his spare card key and while it wasn't the first time, the revelation that his brother was probably in love with him prompted him to avoid places where he knew he'd meet Alfred (outside the meeting).

And maybe this whole avoiding Alfred thing was childish and silly. But he needed time to think.

This was all incredibly new because _it was Alfred_. Matthew wasn't virgin and he had relationships before, but they hadn't involved love. As awful as that sounded, it was true. He cared deeply about each partner and was content to maintain friendships. But he never demanded nor expected anything else. After all, what was love for someone who, potentially, could live for an eternity and a half?

And now here was Alfred, the one who he knew he could count on to support and love him, as a friend and a brother, and the one who was throwing their former relationship off balance.

Alfred was good at throwing things off balance.

But wasn't lover just another step from friend and brother?

But Alfred wanted things that maybe Matthew wasn't ready to give. Maybe he wanted things Matthew couldn't give. Things that Alfred would want but that Matthew didn't have.

Matthew swallowed harshly. Realizing that Arthur and Francis had disappeared (come to think of it…hadn't they been saying something to him during his internal monologue?), Matthew simply shrugged and decided to just go back up to his room.

* * *

"Matthew, I want you to be the Golden Girl to my Captain America. The Lois Lane to my Superman. The Mary Jane to my Spiderman." Alfred stated, eyes as blue as the Pacific wide and serious and expectant at his mirror image.

Literally his mirror image. Alfred was in his hotel room, standing in front of the vanity.

"The Catwoman to my Batman." He continued, seriously. But the image of Matthew's lithe body swathed in leather, wielding a whip in one hand, and staring him down perched from brick building with the night sky behind him, brought a dark flush to his face.

"Maybe not Catwoman." Alfred muttered.

But imaging Matthew as Mary Jane and Lois Lane wasn't helpful either because the thought of rushing in and saving a very damsel-esque Matthew (who was being held over the edge of a brick building, about to fall to his doom) involved two of his favorite fantasies. The first being his long-running interest in heroics and the second, a far newer fantasy, of Matthew in short skirts.

Somewhere, Matthew sneezed and thought, fleetingly, that perhaps he should slap Alfred the next they meet.

"This is a lot more frustrating than I thought it would be." The blond sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair. "Mattie doesn't want me to touch him. So that means no hugs or kisses." A pout overtook his face. But kissing was what one was supposed to do with whom ever they loved.

"Maybe I'm doing this wrong. I do care about him. I love him." Alfred breathed deeply, eyes stinging. "And I can't even figure out how to prove it to him…how to make him believe me…"

"Then show him, git. You can't possibly be that daft."

"If he is, _Angleterre_, it is clearly because of your influence."

"I will hit you again."

"Oho, _mon lapin est très pervers._"

"Y-you depraved, wine-swilling, poofter--!"

Alfred sighed. The two older nations may have meant well, but it'd be awhile before anything else useful would be said. And, he wondered off-handedly, how did they even get in?

...Never mind. That was one question he preferred to remain unanswered.

Back to thinking about Matthew in a leather catsuit.

* * *

Translations for Fail!French:

Mon lapin est tres pervers: My rabbit is very kinky. -shot-

Quick notes: In my mind, America can be kinda pervy. And Arthur and Francis are well-meaning parents who sometimes fail (because they lecture when the kid isn't listening and they get sidetracked by arguments) but want their kids to be happy. Yes, they're okay with their former colonies getting it on. I can go back to their talk later, but, as I said, I wanted to be a bit more light-hearted this chapter. And I hope this chapter met people's expectations. If it didn't, I'm very sorry. But please, let me know what you think. Any comments and criticisms are welcome! -scampers back to hiding place-


	6. Chapter 6

I'm in a bit of a hurry, but I decided to post this chapter anyways. It may not be as long as other chapters, but I think its still okay. Since the last chapter was more filler-ish, I think this was needed. I hope everyone enjoys it! And thank you to everyone who has been following this, fav'd this, watched for it, or reviewed it. You all make my days a lot brighter. This chapter is for you, my dear readers.

Warnings: language, OOCness,

Pairing: Alfred/Matthew, hints of Francis/Arthur

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any world countries (they wouldn't sell me Russia...)

* * *

Matthew was really starting to regret not bring Kumataro (…was that his name?) with him to the conference as he sighed, for perhaps the twentieth time, into the plush mound of pillows at the head of his hotel bed. While the pillows were soft and of high quality, they simply couldn't match the comfort of the bear's fur. Since Matthew was a child, he had always buried his face into Kumakichi's (…still not quite it) pristine fur. The feel of the fluffy strands against his cheeks, the thrum of the other's breathing, and the warm radiating off the animal never failed to chase away his fears during long nights or dry his tears after his guardians' departures or a particularly bad argument with Alfred.

He and Kumajirou (…yeah, that sounds right!) had been together since the beginning. And as much as he wanted to bring the bear along, he knew that the creature would be uncomfortable by the noise and pollution of New York. Not to mention Germany's new strict ban on animals in conferences. Even though the stern blond had a soft spot for the polar bear, he refused to make any exceptions. China's panda, Iceland's puffin, and Stephen's koala had to stay behind as well.

(But that was okay. Its glowing, crimson eyes freaked everyone out.)

Matthew knew he could've used his friend's company at the moment.

Turning his head ever so slightly, he looked over at the two plastic card keys sitting innocently on the nightstand. The name of the hotel was emblazoned on the key and the plastic gleamed under the artificial light of the lamp.

He had both of the card keys to his room.

Alfred hadn't taken the spare.

Matthew found this strangely unsettling.

Alfred always took the spare. In the beginning, the other blond would snatch his spare key from his jacket pocket and recite some stale speech about how he would need it in case Matthew needed to be saved in the middle of the night. As the years passed, Alfred stopped recited the familiar lines (because Matthew started ignoring him) and just nicked the plastic card from Matthew's pocket after distracting the younger nation with an enthusiastic shout and a grin as wide as the San Andreas fault.

Alfred was never really subtle about it (because the other nation never mastered subtlety no matter how many secret agent movies he watched) but Matthew always pretended that he never noticed his spare key go missing.

It wasn't really a big deal, after all. And he knew how much Alfred liked playing the hero and saving the day. If breaking into Matthew's room because he "thought he heard the window shatter" and if staying the night in the northern nation's room "just in case the villain returns" made Alfred happy, Matthew would continue to be oblivious to the fingers that gleefully reached for his key.

But this time, Alfred didn't steal his key. And Matthew swallowed, trying to dispel the bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

Alfred said he wouldn't give up. But people go back on their word.

Matthew's heart ached.

* * *

Francis wouldn't say he was surprised (or particularly thrilled) when he found out about America's little crush on his precious once colony. The young superpower was brash, childish, ambitious, paranoid and trigger-happy. Yes, he was capable of moments of brilliance and humility, but those moments were difficult to keep in mind after the fourth time he mentioned setting up a laser security system around the world and after watching the nation _inhale_ hamburger after greasy hamburger during lunch.

But Francis could see, better than anyone, that the bold nation was head over heels for _Mathieu._

He wasn't quite sure how he missed the way the other's face would soften ever so slightly when the other blond was mentioned. The man was so earnest when he asked what could he do to win over the Canadian.

"He told me he hates it when I touch him." The superpower smiled sadly, looking away from the older nations. Francis's heart wept for the love struck child.

Even Arthur looked sympathetic.

"I'm sure he doesn't mean it, lad."

"Maybe not." Alfred had shrugged. "But if he tells me not to, I won't."

Francis's lips curved upwards and, with a wink, he said, "You can seduce without touching, _cher_." Here he blew a kiss to Arthur, partly to tease and partly to see the way the nation's ears turned red as he resolutely avoided his gaze.

"Why don't you just tell him?"

"That's so lame, old man!"

"Who're you calling old you twat?!"

Francis rolled his eyes. "_Eh, __ça suffit." _

"I just wanna do something really awesome! I want Mattie to stop moping around and believe me! I want him to like it when I touch him! I want to be able to hold onto him and kiss him! I want him to want me!" Alfred threw his arms above his head in frustration. Tangling his fingers into his amber colored locks, he tilted his head back and breathed deeply. "I don't want him to ever doubt how I feel. I don't want him to ever feel bad or worthless or lame. I don't want him to run away from me."

Arthur and Francis stared wide-eyed as Alfred continued, unmindful of their shock.

"I want to wake up and see his face. I don't want him to ever be afraid of me." He paused briefly before finally, he muttered, "I want him to give me a chance." He laughed, mirthlessly, "I guess I want too much."

Arthur opened his mouth, but hesitated slightly before he said quietly, "When has that ever stopped you?"

Alfred's eyes flickered open and bright blue eyes stared curiously at his former guardian. Seeing that he had the other's attention, Arthur pushed forward with a deep breath.

"You have no sense of restraint, but sometimes that actually benefits your sorry arse." Arthur smiled fondly. "Matthew is hardly a pushover, despite your tasteless jokes—"

"I've already apologized for my people! And its not like he doesn't tease me!"

"—Don't interrupt, boy." Sharp green eyes glared meaningfully at the younger nation and successfully silenced the protest growing on the other's tongue. It seems his stern fatherly glare was still functional. "Matthew likes small, meaningful gestures and he values honesty."

Alfred looked dumbstruck. "…what?"

"Tell him everything you just said to us."

"But what if he doesn't feel the same?" It was almost pitiful how pathetic the normally exuberant nation sounded.

"What if he does?" The British man countered.

The young nation looked unsure still so Francis cut in smoothly.

"Most likely, _mon ange_ is surprised and wary—you know how he is. If you want him to believe you, you must tell him everything!"

"But—"

"Fine. Stay here and quibble." Arthur snapped, turning around brusquely and heading towards the door. "While you're wringing your hands and wailing about how Matthew doesn't feel the same, Prussia will make his move. He's been eyeing Matthew—"

The slamming of the door interrupted Arthur's words and he paused briefly before smiling faintly. Alfred just needed a bit of a kick in the pants.

"You never cease to amaze me, _Angleterre._" Francis cooed softly, sauntering over to the shorter nation, hands poised to—

"Touch me and I promise you will need new limbs."

* * *

After running into Matthew's locked hotel door, Alfred really wished he had stolen the other's spare key earlier. He rubbed his forehead, fairly certain a bump was going to form there soon. And when Matthew didn't open the door (because the collision was loud enough that he'd notice—after all, Romano heard and opened his door down the hallway to curse at him), Alfred was certain the violet-eyed nation was asleep.

Matthew was a heavy sleeper.

And he was about to give up hope when he remembered that he and Matthew were almost identical. In fact, he had pretended to be the other nation whenever he went abroad…

He could just go to the front desk and get another key instead!

With a huge grin, Alfred turned and made his way to the elevator, mussing his hair and twirling Nantucket so it bounced with each step.

He was going to win over Mattie. He didn't plan on giving up.

* * *

_Eh, __ça suffit. = _Hey, that's enough.

Notes:

1. Stephen is Australia. I don't believe I said that earlier.

2. America steals Canada's spare keys. He might forget the guy at times, but he likes to keep tabs on him. -shot-

So, yeah. To put it obviously now, Alfred is in love with Matthew. Matthew is still hesitant. But, don't worry my darlings. Because we're reaching the end. XD Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'd appreciate it if you guys let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

Whoohoo! Final chapter everyone! I feel like the last two were necessarily unnecessary but its okay! Everything works out! Thanks to everyone who followed this story, reviewed, fav'd, or waited with bated breath! You all are awesome and deserving of many cookies! I hope you all enjoy this next part as well~

Warnings: slash, OOCness

Pairing: Alfred/Matthew

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

"Finally." Alfred muttered, letting himself into Matthew's hotel room. The woman at the desk had, somehow, managed to recognize him and refused to hand over another key copy. After pleading and cajoling and bribing (and drawing the attention of the entire lobby on the pair), the woman had rolled her eyes and reluctantly handed over the spare, mumbling, "You don't seem like the dangerous type anyways. Too dumb…"

Alfred, then, had gleefully snatched the key and sprinted off, barely even listening to the insult.

The door creaked softly as Alfred shut it, looking around for Matthew. The room was quiet and the blond crept towards the bedroom of the suite. Opening the door, the blond peeked through and smiled softly when he saw the other man slumbering on top of the bedspread.

Holding his breath, Alfred slipped over and sat on the edge of the bed, watching the other as he slept.

Alfred's hand raised, slow and hesitant, towards the slumbering blond and idly pushed back some curling, silken strands that hid the younger's face. Thin lips barely parted in sleep and nearly translucent lashes rested against pale cheeks.

The thought of Prussia having Matthew… Alfred scowled, possessive and unwavering.

Matthew was his. And that wouldn't change. Alfred wouldn't let it change, not without fighting, tooth and nail and gun and missile and bomb.

Matthew slept on, body rising with each breath.

A face often mistaken for his, but so dissimilarly detailed.

Alfred studied the other, blue eyes tracing every contour, every feature of the other nation, committing it to memory.

He didn't want to forget anything.

Alfred was warm. He could feel it in the tips of his fingers, felt it tingle throughout his body as he watched Matthew. His heart ached, bursting at the seams with the only emotion he could look at Matthew with nowadays.

Love.

Alfred swallowed roughly. He knew it. He accepted it. He embraced it.

"I love you, Matthew."

Violet eyes fluttered open, blinked once, before focusing on Alfred. And Alfred felt panic overtake him, briefly. How long had Matthew been awake?

But Alfred could see the flicker of confusion, the indecision between flight and fight, between staying and running.

Alfred felt confidence return, fortifying his resolve.

He refused to let Matthew run away again.

"Mattie." Alfred said, softly, lovingly. He reached for the other's hand, held it tightly while never breaking his gaze with the other blond.

"How did you get in?" Matthew inquired, eyes questioning. "You didn't steal the spare." The last few words were said almost accusingly, the barest hint of blame, but Alfred still felt it.

"I planned to. I wanted to." Alfred laughed weakly, the beginnings of a sheepish smile on his face. "But I didn't think you'd appreciate it…this time."

Matthew frowned, annoyed. Not only at himself for successfully pushing away his brother (and it was strange because any other time he'd congratulate his self) and at his brother for choosing **that** time to start listening to him.

"I didn't think it would stop you." Matthew admitted squirming in discomfort and looking away from curious blue eyes.

"…Wait, you knew I steal your keys?" Alfred asked, surprise sufficiently distracting him from his goal. "Since when?"

Matthew laughed, low and melodious. "Since you started. You're not very subtle." He laughed again when the sitting blond pouted. "Besides, how else would you break into my room before three am?"

"It's for your own protection." Alfred grumbled, defending himself. "I told you I would always protect you, you know."

"I know." Alfred looked down catching the unreadable look Matthew was giving him. "I never stopped you because I know. And because you're the only one I would trust."

Some might find that strange. Even Matthew found it strange that he wouldn't dream of giving Francis or Arthur the key to his homes or to his rooms, he would give that privilege to a nation with enough weaponry (nuclear and not) to bring the apocalypse down on the world hundreds of times over. He would trust the nation that stared at his lands in desire, even invaded with the intention of keeping the other boy in a gilded birdcage for years.

But Matthew knew Alfred had never wanted to hurt him. He could've, Matthew knew, completely broken him, destroyed him, taken him and kept him.

But he didn't.

Matthew knew Alfred wasn't so innocent that it never crossed his mind.

Japan's scars, Iraq's wounds, Cuba's hatred, Mexico's flashes of disdain and disgust, the ugly burn stretching across his heart all spoke of Alfred's lost innocence.

Despite that, despite Matthew's understandable fear of the superpower next door, the nation of Canada could turn his back on the other man and not expect the cold steel of a dagger.

"I didn't think you'd come." Matthew admitted shyly.

"Of course I would've. I love you, Matt."

And there it was. No more dancing around, no more beating around the bush.

It wasn't the most romantic way, but the message was utterly undeniable.

Matthew's eyes widened and Alfred could hear the other inhale sharply.

Alfred's grip on the other tightened, keeping the slender nation in place in case he tried to flee.

But when violet eyes began to fill with tears, he couldn't help but feel he'd messed up terribly.

"Why?" Matthew whispered, closing his eyes. He just couldn't understand. Why him?

Alfred, feeling panic rise in his throat, grabbed the other by the shoulders and pulled him up and close. Wrapping his arms around bony shoulders, Alfred held the other so close he could hear their hearts pound in synchronization and he couldn't help but find comfort in the simultaneous rhythm.

"Why not?" Alfred mumbled, lips pressed against golden locks. "Why not?"

Matthew couldn't see it, couldn't understand it and it frustrated Alfred.

What answer could he give that Matthew would believe?

"Because when we were younger you pushed me into that snowdrift after I teased you for looking like a girl and it was from then on I knew you weren't a wimp. Because you were the only to look me in the eye and never flinch even when Arthur refused to speak to me." A tanned hand ran comfortingly down Matthew's back, roving over the curve of his spine. "Because you pretend to be too weak to open the pickle jar whenever I visit."

Matthew remained silent (though he was amazed at Alfred's memory) and Alfred wondered if he had said something incredibly stupid.

"I just love you Matthew." Alfred said softly. "If you just give me the chance…" He trailed off.

Matthew pulled away slightly and studied Alfred's face with unreadable violet eyes.

Matthew wouldn't lie, though he'd never say it out loud, but he was nervous. He was afraid. He wasn't sure. Could he be in love?

But Alfred's eyes held no shadows, no secrets. There was only honesty and adoration.

And he remembered that Alfred had never wavered, even after Matthew fearfully pushed him away. Alfred had persevered even when Matthew knew that he would've given up.

And he remembered how much it upset him to think that Alfred would give up on him and how inexplicably relieved he felt to see those wide blue eyes above him.

Then his face softened and he asked, curiously, "How do you remember all those times?"

Alfred grinned, embarrassed, "I just do."

Matthew's lips curved upwards slightly. He felt warm, flattered, and had the sudden urge to tease this new, sentimental version of Alfred but he resisted it.

Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe they would both end up in tears one day. Maybe they were both still too young.

But maybe he should still take a chance because maybe it would all be okay.

"Just give me a chance, Mattie."

Matthew leaned forward and kissed a surprised Alfred directly on the lips. "I always do, Alfred."

Maybe it would all be worth it.

* * *

Oh, it will be Matt. It will be. -mad cackle- So, it is complete darling readers. I went back and read this and decided to type out the ending. I just thought this was a good place to end. I suppose if people want an epilogue or omake (or have an idea for one...) I could eventually write one. But, that is another time! I hope everyone enjoyed this story. I enjoyed writing it. I apologize if people found it not satisfying, but I really wasn't sure what other route to go (...no sex, thats another story...).

Anyways, drop a line and let me know how you all feel! Now to go see what other story to work on... -scampers away-


End file.
